Rebecca had never
guessed that she had been Jodie’s object of scrutiny, and lust, for
their full four years at Linville High. Rebecca had always been the
sexiest girl in school. She had never dated a freshman, even when she
was a freshman, and her boyfriends had all been jocks. Her current
beau, Michael Standish, had been an All-State football player. Jodie
didn’t understand football, and she didn’t care to. All Jodie had
understood was that Rebecca Drysdale wore a tight cheerleader outfit
at the school’s varsity games and showed skin. That was enough for
Jodie to go to all the varsity games—football, basketball, soccer,
you name it. Jodie’s friends were mystified as to why she attended
so many games, but they did not dare to ask her why. Jodie possessed
a commanding, intimidating presence. She had openly dated girls at
school, but the bigot bullies left her alone—Jodie’s tough
reputation preceded her. Which made her all the more attractive to
certain kinds of girls.

Except, Rebecca
Drysdale was not that kind of girl. Preppy, moneyed, Republican,
boring. Rebecca had made it no secret that her only goal in life was
to marry and have four children before she turned 30. Naturally, she
might leave for college, but she had no desire to ever move away from
Linville. On the opposite spectrum, Jodie couldn’t wait to get out
of the town she felt was small-minded, provincial, and just plain
stupid.

Tonight celebrated the
last Saturday of the seniors’ high school lives. They graduated
Monday. David Velacruz was throwing a party for the entire class in
his gigantic home, which most of the seniors—particularly
“outliers” like Jodie Underwood—had never seen. David’s
parents were among the few Linville citizens even richer than
Rebecca’s. (Conveniently for the party, Mr. Velacruz and his wife
were out of town.) The Velacruz home impressed everyone. The living
room alone was big enough to land a small plane in. And one wouldn’t
even have to move the Steinway grand piano.

Jodie studied Rebecca.
Usually, Rebecca moved in a big circle of cheerleader friends. These
Heathers walked through the school and the town in a migrating-bird
formation: a big V, with Rebecca at the tip of the spear. However,
tonight, Rebecca’s friends had peeled off one by one as various
boys had approached them with some drunken variant of “Hey, I wanna
talk to you.” The boys had led the girls outside, downstairs,
upstairs—anywhere with a little privacy. Everybody knew what was
happening. Tonight was all about getting it on, last-chance hook-ups…